Chambers' Edinburgh Journal by Various
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Various >> Chambers\' Edinburgh Journal
Henry, regaining a little courage, told her what he desired: then
Jules having related his friend's visit to their master, Henry added:
'But I see very well, mademoiselle, that you cannot do this portrait
either, and I am sorry to have disturbed you.'
In the meantime little Jules had been kissing his sister, and
caressing her soft hair, entreating her not to refuse his little
friend's request. Mlle d'Orbe was painting Anna Boleyn: she stopped
her work; a struggle seemed to arise in the depth of her heart, while
she looked affectionately on the children. She, however, soon laid
aside her pallett, and casting one glance of regret on her picture: 'I
will take your father's portrait,' she said to Henry--'that man of
sorrow, and of genius. Your mother's wish shall be fulfilled.'
She had scarcely uttered these words when a lady entered the room. She
was young, pretty, and richly dressed. Having announced her name, she
asked Mlle d'Orbe to take her portrait, on the express condition that
it should be finished in time to be placed in the Exposition.
'It is impossible for me to have this honour, madame,' replied the
artist: 'I have a picture to finish, and I have just promised to do a
portrait to which I must give all my spare time.'
'You would have been well paid for my portrait, and my name in the
catalogue would have made yours known,' added the young countess.
Mlle d'Orbe only replied by a bow; and the lady had scarcely
withdrawn, when taking her bonnet and shawl, the young artist embraced
her brother, took Henry by the hand, and said to him: 'Bring me to
your mother, my child.'
Henry flew rather than walked; Mlle d'Orbe could with difficulty keep
up with him. Both ascended to the fifth storey in the house in the Rue
Descartes, where this poor family lived. When they reached the door,
Henry tapped softly at it. Mme G---- opened it.
'Mamma,' said the boy, trembling with emotion, 'this lady is an
artist: she is come to take papa's portrait.' The poor woman, who had
not hoped for such an unexpected happiness, wept as she pressed to her
lips the hands of Mlle d'Orbe, and could not find words to express
her gratitude.
The portrait was commenced at once; and the young artist worked with
zeal and devotion, for her admiration of the gifted and unfortunate
man was intense. She resolved to make the piece valuable as a work of
art, for posterity might one day demand the portrait of this gifted
man, and her duty as a painter was to represent him in his noblest
aspect.
Long sittings fatigued the invalid; so it was resolved to take two
each day, and the young artist came regularly twice every day. As by
degrees the strength of the sick man declined, the portrait advanced.
At length, at the end of twelve days, it was finished: this was about
a week before the death of M. G----.
At the same time that she was painting this portrait, Mlle d'Orbe
worked with ardour on her large painting, always hoping to have it
ready in time. This hope did not fail her until some days before the
1st of February. There was but a week longer to work: and this year
she must abandon the idea of sending to the Exposition.
Some artists who had seen her picture had encouraged her very much;
she could count, in their opinion, on brilliant success. This she
desired with all her heart: first, from that noble thirst of glory
which God has implanted in the souls of artists; and, secondly, from
the influence it would have on the prospects of her little Jules, whom
she loved with a mother's tenderness, and whom she wished to be able
to endow with all the treasures of education. This disappointment,
these long hours of toil, rendered so vain at the very moment when
she looked forward to receive her reward, so depressed the young
artist, that she became dangerously ill.
Mlle d'Orbe had very few friends, as she was an orphan, and lived in
great retirement; she found herself therefore completely left to the
care of her young attendant. When Jules met Henry at the
drawing-school he told him of his sister's illness: Henry informed his
mother, and Mme G---- immediately hastened to Mlle d'Orbe, whom she
found in the delirium of a fever from which she had been suffering for
some days. The servant said that her mistress had refused to send for
a doctor, pretending that her illness did not signify. Mme G----,
terrified at the state of her young friend, went out and soon returned
with Dr Raymond.
The invalid was delirious: she unceasingly repeated the
words--'portrait,' 'Anna Boleyn,' 'exposition,' 'fortune,'
'disappointed hopes;' which plainly indicated the cause of her
illness, and brought tears into the eyes of Mme G----. 'Alas!' she
said, 'it is on my account she suffers: I am the cause of her not
finishing her picture. Doctor, I am very unfortunate.'
'All may be repaired,' replied the doctor: 'if you will promise to
nurse the invalid, I will answer for her recovery.'
In fact, Mme G---- never left the sick-bed of Mlle d'Orbe. The
doctor visited her twice in the day, and their united care soon
restored the health of the interesting artist.
Mademoiselle was scarcely convalescent when she went to the Exposition
of paintings at the Louvre, of which she had heard nothing--the doctor
and Mme G---- having, as she thought, avoided touching on a subject
which might pain her. She passed alone through the galleries, crowded
with distinguished artists and elegantly-dressed ladies, saying to
herself that perhaps her picture would have been as good as many which
attracted the admiration of the crowd. She was thus walking sadly on,
looking at the spot where she had hoped to have seen her Anna Boleyn,
when she found herself stopped by a group of artists. They were
unanimous in their praises. 'This is the best portrait in the
Exposition,' said one. 'A celebrated engraver is about to buy from the
artist the right to engrave this portrait for the new edition of the
author's works,' said another. 'We are very fortunate in having so
faithful a likeness of so distinguished a writer as M. G----.'
At this name Mlle d'Orbe raised her eyes, and recognised her own
work! Pale, trembling with emotion, the young artist was obliged to
lean on the rail for support; then opening the catalogue, she read her
name as if in a dream, and remained for some time to enjoy the
pleasure of hearing the praises of her genius.
When the Exposition closed she hastened to Mme G----, and heard that
it was Dr Raymond who had conceived the happy idea of sending the
portrait to the Louvre. 'My only merit is the separating myself for a
time from a picture which is my greatest consolation,' added Mme
G----.
From this day the young artist became the friend of the poor widow,
whose prospects soon brightened. Through the influence of some of the
friends of her lost husband, she obtained a pension from government--a
merited but tardy reward! The two ladies lived near each other, and
spent their evenings together. Henry and Jules played and studied
together. Marie read aloud, while her mother and Mlle d'Orbe worked.
Dr Raymond sometimes shared in this pleasant intercourse. He had loved
the young artist from the day he had seen her renounce so much to do a
generous action; but, an orphan like herself, and with no fortune but
his profession, he feared to be rejected if he offered her his hand.
It was therefore Mme G---- who charged herself with pleading his suit
with the young artist.
Mlle d'Orbe felt a lively gratitude towards the young doctor for the
care and solicitude he had shewn during her illness, and for sending
her portrait to the Exposition. Thanks to him, she had become known;
commissions arrived in numbers, a brilliant future opened before her
and Jules. Mme G---- had, then, a favourable answer to give to her
young friend, who soon became the husband of the interesting artist
whose generous sacrifice had been the foundation of her happiness.
ACCIDENTS AT SEA.
On this subject an interesting return to an order of the House of
Commons was lately made by the management of Lloyd's, and has caused
some discussion in the public prints. The return applies to the four
years ending December 1850; and during this period, it appears that
the number of collisions, wrecks, and other accidents at sea, was
13,510; being at the rate of 3377 per annum, 9 per diem, or 1 for
every 2-3/4 hours. Commenting on these details, the _Times_ observes,
that 'it must not be understood that every accident implies a total
wreck, with the loss of all hands. If a ship carries away any of her
important spars, or, on entering her port, strikes heavily against a
pier, whereby serious damage is occasioned, the accident is duly
registered in this pithy chronicle of Lloyd's. Nevertheless, as we
glance up and down the columns, it is no exaggeration to say, that
two-thirds of the accidents recorded are of the most serious
description. We are unable to say to what degree this register of
Lloyd's can be accepted as a fair index to the tragedies which are of
such hourly occurrence upon the surface of the ocean. If all were
known, we fear that this average of accident or wreck every 2-3/4
hours would be fearfully increased. The truth must he told. The
incapacity of too many of the masters in the British mercantile marine
has been the pregnant cause of loss to their owners and death to their
crews. Men scarcely competent to take the responsibility of an
ordinary day's work, or, if competent, of notoriously intemperate
habits, were placed in command of sea-going ships through the
parsimony or nepotism of the owners. The result of the educational
clauses in the Mercantile Marine Bill of last session, will no doubt
be to provide a much larger body of well-trained men, from among whom
our shipowners can select the most competent persons for command.'
These observations called forth a reply from the President of the
Seaman's Association, vindicating mariners from the charges so brought
against them. A few passages from the letter of this respondent are
worth noticing. 'Are British sailors,' he asks, 'really so bad as you
represent? If so, then you condemn by implication the seamen of the
United States, for they are also Anglo-Saxon. Let me direct your
attention to a few facts bearing out this assertion. The desertions
from the royal navy in 1846 (see Parliamentary Returns) were 2382;
this is about 1 out of every 14 seamen annually. Nearly the whole of
these men keep to the United States' service. Again, the desertions
from Quebec in consequence of three things--first, low wages;
secondly, register-tickets; thirdly, the payment of 1s., exacted from
every man on shipment and discharge, to a shipping office, to uphold
the Mercantile Marine Act, for which the men receive no value--were
upwards of 1400 this season; and about 4000 from all other ports. From
American statistics, it is proved that two-thirds of the seamen
sailing in ships of the United States are British subjects; and if
American ships are preferred to British, it must be because they are
manned by our fine spirited tars. A large proportion of their ships
are commanded by Englishmen.'
An effort, as is well known, has lately been made to elevate the
character of British seamen, by means of registries under the
Mercantile Marine Act, and the issuing of tickets, which must be
produced by sailors. Our belief is, that much of the legislation on
this subject has been injurious; as any law must be which attempts to
regulate the bargains of employers and employed. It may be proper for
master-mariners to be subjected to some kind of test of ability, but
it appears to us that it would be equally beneficial to encourage
young men to enter the profession. To pay well is, after all, the true
way to get good servants. Why do British sailors desert to the
American service? Because they are better paid. And having so
deserted, they unfortunately cannot again procure employment under the
British flag without producing a register-ticket, which, of course,
they cannot do. Thus, picked men are permanently lost to the British
navy. Besides offering higher wages, it might have proved extremely
advantageous to open nautical schools for youths desirous of going to
sea. According to existing arrangements, the sailor--like the French
workman with his _livret_--is considered to be a child not fit to take
care of himself; and the law interposes to say he shall do this, and
do that, under a penalty for neglect of its provisions. This is to
keep sailors in a state of perpetual tutelage; and being at variance
with the principles of civil liberty, it is to be feared that the
practice can lead to nothing but mischief.
As to wrecks, the cause of the chief disasters seems as often to be
imperfect construction of vessels and imperfect stowage, as anything
else; while loss of life for the greater part arises from a deficiency
of boats, and the means of readily unshipping them. As victims of
ill-made, badly-found, and rotten vessels, not to speak of land-sharks
and sea-sharks--as the sufferers in life and limb when shippers and
brokers may be actually benefiting from casualties--sailors, as a
class, merit public sympathy instead of reproach or discouragement.
'VISIT TO AN ENGLISH MONASTERY.'
We have received a letter from the Abbot of Mount St Bernard's,
pointing out, in courteous terms, several inaccuracies in the article
which appeared with the above title in No. 413 of this Journal. Meat,
it seems, is only 'strictly prohibited' to the healthy: it is allowed
to the sick and infirm when prescribed by the doctor. Every night
before compline the brethren meet to hear some pious lecture read, not
to confess their thoughts to the superior. Instead of one meal a day,
as stated by our correspondent, the lay-brethren, who are employed
chiefly in manual labour, have at least two meals every day during the
whole year, excepting fast-days; and the choir-brethren two meals a
day during the summer, and one during the winter. To the latter, when
they are of a weakly constitution, a collation is allowed in addition.
The greatest error of all, however, appears to us to exist in the
estimate formed of the abbot, who, judging by his correspondence, is
evidently as informed and intelligent a person as is usually met with
out of the monastic circle.
AMERICAN HOMAGE TO SHAKSPEARE AND MRS COWDEN CLARKE.
There is a work to which many of our readers are probably strangers,
but which has roused the enthusiasm of the New World. It is a work of
immense labour, which in writing and correcting proofs occupied its
author sixteen years. This author is a lady, and the production on
which she bestowed so much unwearied patience and perseverance, during
a space of time equivalent in most cases to an entire literary life,
is a Concordance to Shakspeare. 'Her work,' says Mr Webster, the
American Secretary of State, 'is a perfect wonder, surprisingly full
and accurate, and exhibiting proof of unexampled labour and patience.
She has treasured up every word of Shakspeare, as if he were her
lover, and she were his.' But Mr Webster and his countrymen were not
satisfied even with such generous praise: they determined to present
Mrs Clarke with an enduring testimonial of their gratitude and
respect; and, accordingly, the ceremony has recently been performed by
Mr Abbot Laurence, the American minister. The list of subscribers, we
are told, 'contains names from Maine to Mexico. Even the far, far
west, Wisconsin, Michigan, and Illinois, have contributed; whilst
Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Maryland, Massachusetts, New York,
Pennsylvania, Ohio, and South Carolina, swell the list of the most
distinguished American literati, embracing a fair sprinkling of fair
ladies. There is even a subscriber from the shores of the Pacific.'
The testimonial is an elaborately carved library chair, bearing on the
top rail a mask of Shakspeare, copied in ivory from the Stratford
bust, wreathed with oak-leaves and laurel, and shaded by the wings of
two of 'Avon's swans.' Although an elegant and costly gift, however,
in itself, there is attached to this testimonial a meaning and a value
which we trust will make its due impression in the native land of
Shakspeare--in that mother-country to which the eyes of her western
descendants are thus turned in the lofty sympathy which binds together
throughout the whole world the children and worshippers of genius.
TO WORDSWORTH.
The voice of Nature in her changeful moods
Breathes o'er the solemn waters as they flow,
And 'mid the wavings of the ancient woods
Murmurs, now filled with joy, now sad and low.
Thou gentle poet, she hath tuned thy mind
To deep accordance with the harmony
That floats above the mountain summits free--
A concert of Creation on the wind.
And thy calm strains are breathed as though the dove
And nightingale had given thee for thy dower
The soul of music and the heart of love;
And with a holy, tranquillising power
They fall upon the spirit, like a gleam
Of quiet star-light on a troubled stream.
M.A. HOARE.
INTELLECT DEVELOPED BY LABOUR.
Are labour and self-culture irreconcilable to each other? In the first
place, we have seen that a man, in the midst of labour, may and ought
to give himself to the most important improvements, that he may
cultivate his sense of justice, his benevolence, and the desire of
perfection. Toil is the school for these high principles; and we have
here a strong presumption that, in other respects, it does not
necessarily blight the soul. Next, we have seen that the most fruitful
sources of truth and wisdom are not books, precious as they are, but
experience and observation; and these belong to all conditions. It is
another important consideration, that almost all labour demands
intellectual activity, and is best carried on by those who invigorate
their minds; so that the two interests, toil and self-culture, are
friends to each other. It is mind, after all, which does the work of
the world, so that the more there is of mind, the more work will be
accomplished. A man, in proportion as he is intelligent, makes a given
force accomplish a greater task; makes skill take the place of muscle,
and with less labour, gives a better product. Make men intelligent,
and they become inventive; they find shorter processes. Their
knowledge of nature helps them to turn its laws to account, to
understand the substances on which they work, and to seize on useful
hints, which experience continually furnishes. It is among workmen
that some of the most useful machines have been contrived. Spread
education, and as the history of this country shews, there will be no
bounds to useful invention.--_Channing._
* * * * *
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